


Peak Behind the Clouds

by indigospacehopper



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cock Rings, Dom John, Dom/sub, Gag, Idiots in Love, It’s just smut, John’s the softest, M/M, Masochism, Nipple Clamps, Punishment, Sadism, Smut, Sounding, Sub Sherlock, slightly dark John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22050100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigospacehopper/pseuds/indigospacehopper
Summary: John is Sherlock’s dominant, and they love their perverse arrangement. Though perhaps not as much as they love each otherThis is just straight up smut. You have been warned.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	Peak Behind the Clouds

“I love you.”

Sherlock lifted his head and puckered his lips slightly for a kiss, which John gave him without delay. John pulled away and Sherlock dropped his head back, letting the cushions cradle it as his main source of comfort walked towards the wardrobe. 

Rain pattered lightly against the window and soft grey clouds rolled across the sky. It was light for a Autumnal weekend, and the room was filled with a refreshing glow as the sun reached its peak behind the clouds. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” John asked, his back to Sherlock as he opened the chest of drawers. 

“I’m sure,” Sherlock replied, watching John’s back closely. From the angle he was lying he couldn’t quite see exactly what John was doing, but he had a rough idea. 

“Okay, love. Thank you.”

It was John’s idea. It was always John’s idea. But Sherlock rarely said no. He’d never suggest it himself. To suggest it himself would be to damage John’s impression of his own self-control and without that illusion it would fall away.

Because Sherlock kept telling himself that really, he was in control. 

It was one of the few times Sherlock was wrong. 

— 

John turned around with a small bag in his hand.

Sherlock flexed his hips, raising them off the mattress beneath as his cock twitched, excited and expectant. Sherlock knew exactly what that small black bag meant. 

John chuckled.

“We are eager today, aren’t we?” He asked, wrapping his hand around the base of Sherlock’s shaft and dragging upwards. Sherlock’s hips chased John’s hand and John chuckled. 

“Maybe a bit too eager. Now...”

John rummaged around in the drawer of the bedside table and plucked out a pair of handcuffs. They were always there, waiting for John to pull them out and clasp them around Sherlock’s wrists. 

They had been a joke at first. Sherlock wouldn’t sleep and so John had handcuffed him to the bed. He’d sprained his ankle earlier in the day and needed to rest it, but was insistent on chasing criminals around Soho despite the purple swelling. 

The handcuffs were an all too pleasurable last resort. 

“Sherlock, you need to rest,” John had told him, stroking Sherlock’s hair back as Sherlock squirmed on the bed. 

Sherlock relaxed beneath John’s hand, though he was still glaring daggers at John. 

“My ankle is fine, John, really. I’m not tired.” 

“You’ve been awake for nearly 40 hours, love,” John scolded gently. “That’s extreme even for you. I’ll take them off when you can prove to me you won’t run off and injure that ankle any further. Imagine if you’d have broken it? You can’t catch criminals on crutches, or leave the flat very easily.”

He kissed Sherlock’s forehead, and Sherlock smiled warmly. But it was the bulge growing in Sherlock’s trousers which had given him away. John basked in the glory of finally getting one up on Sherlock, watching him lie there, completely at John’s mercy, completely trusting and in love. 

An emotionless Sherlock was a force to be reckoned with, but a Sherlock in love was a beautiful sight to behold. He trusted so deeply and so intimately. And that was his mistake. 

Because John could do anything he wanted to Sherlock, and he knew that Sherlock trusted him enough to do it. Even at that stage, before they’d embarked on their sadistic journey Sherlock had been comfortable with whatever John dished out to him. 

It was those same thoughts that spurred   
John on now. He knew that the technical term was sadism, and he knew that he was definitely a sadist, but Sherlock was simply too good to give up. The sadistic doctor was a strange juxtaposition of a title, but it was title John supported with honour. 

John needed Sherlock. John needed to own Sherlock, and Sherlock consistently offered himself up on a silver platter of bedsheets on all fours with legs spread wide, ready to be taken.

John bit his lip as he recalled the ensuing sex of the sprained ankle-induced bondage. He’d gripped Sherlock’s hair and ploughed into him as Sherlock thrashed and moaned beneath him, precome splattering against his stomach as John pushed forwards in fierce thrusts. 

But that was a long time ago, and a simple pair of handcuffs that John had later learned Sherlock was cable of slipping out of no longer cut it. They were vanilla in comparison to their preferred exploits. Sherlock made no fuss as John put the handcuffs on him, intwining them through the slats of the headboard. 

“Tug for me, love,” John said, stroking Sherlock’s hair back as Sherlock tested the handcuffs. “Hm, I suppose that’ll do.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of Sherlock’s elbow and Sherlock sighed happily, completely overwhelmed that he could be so happy at someone else’s mercy. 

It had been a surprise as much to Sherlock as it had been to John that he was so easily submissive.

“I’m going to gag you, love,” John told Sherlock, and Sherlock’s cock jumped in time with his heart leaping. The gag pushed him deeper into subspace and prevented him from saying something that would get him in trouble. “I want you nice and full. Every hole ready and aching, craving for what you can’t take. You’re going to be a really good boy for me, aren’t you?”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

John stood and went back to the larger drawer. He came back with a large dildo gag. He pushed it into Sherlock’s mouth and Sherlock choked a little as his mouth adjusted to the heavy weight now resting on his tongue, but as John lifted Sherlock’s head and buckled the gag at the back, Sherlock began sucking gently. He wished it was John’s, and closed his eyes as he sucked, hopelessly swirling his tongue around the head.

He was surprised, then, when a salty liquid began trickling through a hole at the tip of the gag and Sherlock opened his eyes to find John smirking at him. 

“Look at you,” he said, popping the lid of the gag back in place. Sherlock hadn’t even realised it could detach. “Swallowing your own cum so easily. I knew those milking samples would come in handy.”

A deep crimson blush blossomed across Sherlock’s cheeks and he wriggled slightly, swallowing the droplets of his come from sessions gone by. He had wondered why John was keeping so many samples, and now he had the answer. 

John rubbed Sherlock’s stomach gently, causing Sherlock to blush more furiously as his heart swelled. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” John told him, smiling, “I think you’re gorgeous.”

Sherlock shuffled again, flexing his hips to show John that he was happy to receive the compliments and was willing to do more in order to achieve them. John chuckled.

This new gag meant that John could ensure that Sherlock stayed hydrated throughout their scene without him having to remove it. John smiled and ruffled Sherlock’s hair, pouring another load into the gag. 

Sherlock continued sucking the dildo, his eyes twinkling. John knew that Sherlock loved him, he didn’t have to hear him say it. 

“I could keep you like this,” John said, sitting down next to him on the bed. He rubbed the inside of Sherlock thigh gently. “You’re gorgeous. My little slut, ready be taken at a moment’s notice. Drinking nothing but his own cum, getting off on it.” He stroked Sherlock once, then reached beneath him and twisted the anal plug lodged in Sherlock’s arse gently. It rarely came out anymore. Not unless there was a good reason. 

Sherlock struggled to run on cases when the plug was in, though and John never wanted to discourage him from taking cases, so the plug was removed and the sound went instead. It was merely insurance for John. A reminder to Sherlock of who he belonged to while he was gallivanting off solving crimes. John didn’t trust himself to leave it in for too long, aware of the damage it could do but sometimes it was so deliciously tempting to leave it in that it was a consisted battle with himself to remove it. 

Sherlock groaned as John pulled and twisted the anal plug, pushing it gently against his prostate until Sherlock whimpered and arched his back and bit down on the gag, before John pulled it away again. Beads of sweat glistened across Sherlock’s forehead. 

“I love you,” John whispered. “But this has to come out now. I want you nice and full for me. Nice and clean.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. John flicked Sherlock’s cock, and Sherlock stilled at once. “If you don’t behave I’ll put clamps on your balls. Do you understand?”

Sherlock nodded weakly. 

“Good boy.”

John didn’t really know when this had started, exactly. He knew when the handcuffs had begun, but he didn’t quite realise when they’d fallen into their sadistic way of life until one morning during a punishment. When the threat of clamping Sherlock’s balls was something he would do and had done in the past. The threats John dishes up weren’t idle, and Sherlock knew it. 

He’d caught Sherlock wanking leisurely without his permission, had locked Sherlock’s cock in a cage, forced an overly large ring gag into his mouth and gaffer-taped mittens onto his hands. Sherlock’s hands didn’t leave the mittens for two weeks. There had been no cases to distract either of them. 

If Sherlock needed to piss, John would hold is cock for him, making sure none of it spilled outside of the toilet bowl. 

He did everything for Sherlock in those two weeks. He fed him by hand as Sherlock knelt beneath the table, vibrator whirring against his prostate with sharp nipple clamps chained together and looped around the leg of the kitchen table. Every time Sherlock strayed too far away from the table leg, the clamps would pull harshly and he’d cry out, his dick trying to harden but immediately softening in the cage. With the mittens on, Sherlock couldn’t remove the clamps himself and he was forced to awkwardly shuffle on his knees into a better position. 

It was a good trust building exercise for them both. 

Sherlock was kept on in a collar and on a leash purely for John’s aspiring aesthetic. Sherlock wasn’t going anywhere otherwise. John had sodomised him too thoroughly for that. 

“Alright, love, I’m going to untie your hands and roll you over. If you dare move so much as an inch into a different position from the one I put you in, I’ll not let you come for a month. Do you understand?”

Sherlock nodded quickly. He understood. He understood far too well what would happen if he disobeyed John. He’d learnt that the hard way on far too many occasions. 

John unlocked the handcuffs and rolled Sherlock over onto his stomach. Sherlock stayed exactly where he was put, letting John cuff Sherlock’s hands behind his back and push him onto his knees, his shoulders pressed into the mattress. Sherlock’s breathing was laboured as the gag blocked his airwaves and the nostrils were blocked by the pillow. He could still breathe, but it was tricky. 

In one swift motion, John had pulled the plug out and tossed it to the side. A rubber bung found it’s way into Sherlock’s hole, lightly lubed, and Sherlock whimpered as he realised was it was. 

“I told you this was happening, love,” John told him, rubbing the small of Sherlock’s back in small circles. “And you’re going to be good for me. Aren’t you?”

Sherlock nodded and mumbled something behind the gag. The words got lost but John still smiled warmly and continued to rub Sherlock’s back. 

“Good boy.” 

Sherlock blushed. 

John stood, and for a moment simply admired Sherlock’s body. His cock, hard and aching, standing strong as precum beaded at the tip. To his arse, clenching around the dry rubber bung and to collar and leash, which John had tied around the bedpost. 

He’d wanted to put the collar on tighter. To cut off some more air. To make Sherlock really feel what was happening. He wanted Sherlock choking on the gag and gasping for the air he was limited to as John grabbed his hair and fucked him senseless, ramming Sherlock’s prostate each time with Sherlock’s balls trussed in dainty ribbons and a sound keeping everything at bay. 

He wanted Sherlock aching, hurting, yearning for more. John wanted to keep him on edge. For Sherlock to want nothing more than the twist a pinch of a nipple to make him cry out from over sensitivity. John wanted to bite him; he longed to sink his teeth into that perfect arse, to hear Sherlock cry out as he got off on receiving the pain as much as John did inflicting it. Because that’s what they did. And that’s what they would keep doing. 

John smiled wickedly, ideas pooling into his head as he wheeled the metal stand over to the edge of the bed. 

On the metal stand hung a bag of water, a classic drip with nothing but a clear tube running from it. John pushed the end of the tube into the bong, then turned the tap. 

Water rushed into Sherlock’s arse and Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. John was pleased to see Sherlock’s cock remain at a constant as slowly, Sherlock’s insides filled with water. John rubbed the small of Sherlock’s back. It wasn’t anything new to Sherlock, enemas were as common to him as solving crimes.

“That’s it, love. You’re doing amazing. My beautiful whore.”

John removed the bung and replaced it with a plug. Sherlock shuffled helplessly. 

“Crawl forwards for me.”

With difficulty, Sherlock moved forwards. It hurt a great deal, and was tricky with his hands tied behind his back, but eventually Sherlock found himself being eased up right, so that he was kneeling, the plug doing all it could to hold the water in. Sherlock clenched. John would be livid if it came loose and the water spilt all over the sheets. 

John stroked himself as he watched Sherlock’s body spasm under the water, gravity now pulling it down. He gazed at John helplessly, pleading, but John simply smiled, cocking an eyebrow. 

“A few more seconds, love. That’s all. A few more seconds for me.”

John placed a bowl beneath Sherlock and tugged the plug away. Water gushed into the bowl and Sherlock’s heart pounded as his arse clenched and unclenched on reflex.

The bowl was removed and John pushed Sherlock down by the shoulders again, causing Sherlock’s bum to stick in the air. Seconds later, a larger plug was pushed against Sherlock’s prostate and Sherlock whined loudly as stars blocked his vision, precum dribbling onto the mattress. John smirked. 

“My naughty little slut, making a mess of the bed sheets,” John scolded. He tapped Sherlock’s cock, and Sherlock’s balls drew tight. If he wasn’t careful, Sherlock would cum and ruin his well-laid plans. 

Sherlock didn’t reply, but pushed against John’s hand, craving more. 

“I said, aren’t you?” John hissed, grabbing Sherlock’s curls and forcing his head back. Sherlock whimpered and he was thrown off balance. His knees slipped and he landed on his dick. Without a second thought, Sherlock had begun grinding against the mattress, using his knees to push himself forwards and his shoulders to force him back again, humping it with everything he could muster. 

John saw red. 

Within seconds Sherlock was on the floor, hands trapped behind his back and drool running down his chin and his cheeks as he looked up at John, eyes wide. Panicked. John was on top of him, holding his shoulders down. One knee had slammed down near Sherlock’s hips, the second pressed Sherlock’s balls gently against the hard wooden floorboards. Sherlock didn’t dare move, whimpering as John pushed a little harder. 

“That’s it,” John seethed. “That’s it. How dare you think that was acceptable. How dare you. How dare you try to cum without my permission.”

John rolled his knee and Sherlock’s eyes filled with tears, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut as pain seeped through him. 

With one had, John began undoing the buckle of Sherlock’s collar and Sherlock’s eyes flew open, terrified that John would remove it. 

“Relax, boy,” John said darkly. “This is light.”

He tossed the collar aside. It hit the wardrobe door and fell to the floor with a dull, metallic thud. Sherlock wriggled in protest. 

John reached under the bed and pulled out a small wooden crate. He hadn’t shown it to Sherlock yet, nor the contents, but he was more than ready to use them. 

John pulled out a long slither of black rope. It was looped around several times, with several padlocks hanging from it. 

Sherlock furrowed his brows as John lifted his head and fitted the rings of rope over Sherlock’s head. He pulled it taught around Sherlock’s neck, barely tight enough to pinch skin but rough enough to be uncomfortable. John tugged it slightly, and the rings closed to the point that John could only wriggle his little finger in between the ropes and Sherlock’s skin. He locked the first of the padlocks, a long slither of rope hanging down. 

“This will be your leash and collar until you prove to me that you are worthy enough to wear the real collar,” John told him. “Until you prove to me who you belong to. Until you start behaving like the good little slut I expect you to be.”

Sherlock nodded, and John tugged the rope again. It closed tighter around Sherlock’s throat, constricting air. John grinned as Sherlock thrashed around. 

“Oh, do we like that?” John asked, loosening the rope by tugging it collar-side. Sherlock gasped for air around the gag, his cock twitching quite happily, more precum dribbling onto his stomach. His cheeks flushed crimson.

John tied the end of the rope leash to the base of the bed post, leaving Sherlock on the floor as he stood. 

“I was going to give you a nice time of it tonight, slut,” John said, standing over him with his feet either side of Sherlock’s stomach. “Now? Not so much.”

He stepped over Sherlock and left to make fresh plans. He knew that the poor man’s collar would be excruciating for Sherlock; not physically, but emotionally. To have that taken away was to prove how angry he was. To swap it for an unsentimental piece of rope was to show how little he now cared. To show how little respect he now had. John didn’t want be associated with him. 

—-

John had made excellent work of Sherlock. 

The first thing John had done secure the black leather harness around Sherlock’s hips. The harness had several attachments, but it was buckled at the back. John clipped a cock ring around the base of Sherlock’s penis. He’d then pushed a curved black sound into the urethra, which made Sherlock yell and scream around the gag, until John had locked Sherlock’s cock in a cage with the promise that he wouldn’t come again. He didn’t offer a goal Sherlock had to reach in order to achieve an orgasm, but the threat was believable enough for Sherlock to feel suitably hard done by.

John stroked Sherlock through the cage, earning a muffled whimper and yelp from Sherlock who was now drooling around a ring gag, tucked behind his teeth and buckled around the back of his head. 

John had fucked Sherlock’s mouth quickly and efficiently, grabbing fistfuls of Sherlock’s hair and thrusting with enough force that Sherlock choked several times. But Sherlock remembered his training and didn’t spill a single drop of John’s cum. He shivered as he swallowed it, yearning for more he knew he wouldn’t receive. It was then that John had sat him down on the wooden stool, purple dildo suctioned to the centre. He helped Sherlock onto it, but as soon as Sherlock was seated he let go. 

Sherlock felt like he was being ripped in two. Thinking about his predicament caused his cock to swell, and hearing John’s insults while he worked only served to further his arousal. 

“I could leave you like this. Tie you to the stool, maybe swap the dildo out for a larger one, one keeps a constant pressure on your prostate. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Look at you, your pathetic dick trying to harden at the mere thought of it. It’s so sad. You’re lucky I’m here to teach you how to be a proper submissive. I’m the only one capable of teaching you. You’re a lost cause, slut.” 

John unzipped his fly and pulled his now flaccid cock out. 

“How badly do you want it?”

The dildo John had suctioned to the stool was thick, ridged, but wasn’t quiet large enough to reach Sherlock’s prostate. The girth was wide enough to ensure that he was uncomfortable, however. 

John instructed Sherlock to ride the dildo, which he did, his balls drew tight against the cage as the tip of the sound rattled against it. 

“These would look gorgeous trussed up with ribbons,” John hummed, cupping Sherlock’s balls and massaging them gently. Sherlock groaned, looking up at John, his pupils blown wide. 

John ordered Sherlock to be still, then fetched two slithers of black ribbon which he tied around the top of each of Sherlock’s balls and perfected in a neat bow. It was a heinous thing to do, and was barely noticeable next to the metal cage, the metal sound and thick black leather, but it made John’s stomach churn in the most pleasant kind of way as he watched the way they bounced as Sherlock rode the ridged dildo, his hands secured behind his back. 

John began stroking himself again and Sherlock watched him hungrily, eyes focused on nothing but John’s purpling penis. 

“Oh, no,” John said, tucking himself away again. “You don’t get to experience this. Not today. I want you full. Remember, Sherlock? And your cock is full, your balls are full, but your arse and mouth leave much to be desired.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. He couldn’t imagine how much further it could go. He knew he wouldn’t orgasm, but if John pushed him much further he believed he might explode. 

John eased him off the dildo and stool and lay him down on his back on the bed. Sherlock watched him curiously. He didn’t care that he couldn’t orgasm, not anymore. All he wanted was John. 

John ducked down and sucked one of Sherlock’s nipples into his mouth. 

Sherlock arched his back and moaned helplessly as John bit down gently, then harder, applying pressure all the while. Sherlock whimpered. He wanted more. Needed, more. 

In his head, John saw himself as a chef. He’d watched cooking programmes where professionals had discussed balancing flavours, using just the right amount of each ingredient to create the perfect dish. The perfect level of flavours, creating the sublime. That’s what he always aimed to do with Sherlock. 

Through years of trial and error he’d learned that Sherlock favoured the pain. He lapped up the humiliation almost as readily as he lapped up John’s cum on a lazy Sunday afternoon. He lived for it. With a dash of pleasure and a spoonful of pain John could have Sherlock’s body singing. 

John began playing with the second nipple, blowing cold air on the first before he began his torment. Seconds later, John clipped clamps to Sherlock’s nipples, which he twisted absent-mindedly. On reflex Sherlock’s hips shot upwards, but John forced them back down. 

“Stay still, brat,” he seethed, pulling the clamp upwards as Sherlock whined, his heels digging into the mattress beneath him. 

Sherlock didn’t stop. 

John grabbed the end of the rope leash and tugged, hard. Sherlock gasped as his wind pipe closed and his eyes flew open. He writhed on the bed, furiously trying to breath and failing miserably as he stared pleadingly at John. 

If John didn’t know Sherlock he’d have stopped it. If John didn’t know Sherlock he’d have cut the rope.

But Sherlock’s pupils were blown wide, and the adoration in Sherlock’s eyes running alongside the desperation told John that he’d succeeded. 

He loosened the rope and undid the ring gag. Sherlock automatically rolled onto his side, gasping for air. 

“Love, sit up for me,” John said, easing Sherlock upwards and pressing a glass of water to his lips. Sherlock drank easily, water dribbling down his chin. “Everything okay? Not to harsh?”

Sherlock shook his head, then leaned forwards and tucked his face into the crook of John’s neck. 

“No, you’re brilliant, as always. I love you.” He straightened up and kissed John softly, which John was more than happy to return. 

They kissed for a few minutes, Sherlock’s hands still trapped behind his back, his cock locked away and one clamp dangling from his nipple. John’s hands roamed everywhere. He twisted and tugged at the clamp and rejoiced as Sherlock moaned into the kiss. He stroked Sherlock’s cock through the cage and Sherlock pushed up greedily into his hand. 

“Love.” John pulled away. “I’m going to put the second clamp on you, okay?” 

Sherlock nodded. “Okay.” He smiled warmly. “But can we use the clover clamps instead? They hurt more.”

John nearly took him right there on the bed, pushing Sherlock back down. Sherlock laughed as John fetched the dildo gag again. 

“And this is why I always have to gag you,” he said, pushing the gag into Sherlock’s mouth again. “If I let you talk me into everything I’d never get anything done. Well, except you.”

Sherlock shuffled and began sucking on the gag again. John uncapped it again and poured water into it, which Sherlock swallowed easily. 

“I was serious about not letting you cum, you know,” John told him, removing the clamp. Sherlock hummed as it was removed. “You’re not cumming for a very long time.”

Sherlock nodded, looking up at John. John’s heart swelled and the leaned down to kiss Sherlock’s forehead. 

“My beautiful slut.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, I hope you enjoyed that! I’ve never really written anything like that before so any critiques would be hugely appreciated. Thank you for reading! 
> 
> \- indigospacehopper x


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